City Lights
by Tearoom Saloon
Summary: His apartment was small and their jobs were demanding, but they found time to share. Oh, did they find time. Mostly unrelated snippets of a modern flavor, some more explicit than others. Summaries and individual ratings on each piece.
1. Sundays at 3am

**Pre-Story Note:** Some of these are gonna be really steamy, some aren't. They all take place in the same alternate universe, but they're not in chronological order and the tense will change. There are some lingering connections, but you don't have to read them all in order. If it's a multi-part, I'll state so in the beginning header (like the one below) that gives a small summary and that particular piece's rating.  
These pieces are being used as a writer's block cure.

* * *

 **Vignette: Sundays at 3am:  
Summary:** They fuck like rabbits whenever they get the chance. She's always tired, but she hardly minds.  
 **Rating:** Mature. C'mon, look at that summary.  
 **Multi-Part:** No

* * *

There was something special about how his skin looked in the 3am glow. It wasn't from the nightlight across the room, not from the sex flush still coating his chest, nor the backlight of her phone when she regretting checking the time, blind as a newborn for the next few minutes. No, it was none of those. It was the city that crept in through the cracks in his blinds, inking steadily along the broad plains of his shoulders, catching the ends of his hair when he lay on his stomach, his head turned to her. The colors were always faintly orange with a mix of whites and reds and blues, the din of the city calmed in the dim early morning hours. His apartment was small, not big enough for them both, and it made cozy the space.

"What are you smiling about, sunshine?" His grin was teasing; he knew how much she hated that pet name.

"Thinking about how much shit I'm going to give you in the morning when I've gotten five whole hours of sleep." She hummed to herself, lying on her side with her hands under the pillow. "More than three nights ago, less than I like."

Ben chuckled, searching out her fingers in the mountains of fluff. The man loved duvets and she was easily lost in the swarming sea of blues and whites. She let him have her hand reluctantly, a mock frown carefully in place.

"I think you'll give me maybe one good knock around the ears, no more after how _incredible_ that was." He inched closer to kiss the tip of her nose and her faked frigid exterior melted away. The look in his eyes grew lewd. "Your mouth never ceases to amaze me."

"Aren't you just a chaste little saint?"

"Hey, I'm not the one who begs her boyfriend to let her please him while she's blindfolded down on her knees."

"You weren't being _fair_ , though. What else was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, enjoy getting eaten out? You were moaning loud enough to wake up my neighbor. I know the woman looks like a sweet old basket of kittens, but she was a tramp in her day and she's _never_ going to let me live your screams down." He kissed her full on the lips, his words filthy but his actions affectionate and somewhat pure.

She knew he loved sex with her—moaned it seven different ways to Sunday a half hour ago—but his wants were deeper in nature, always had been since that first abysmal date. A year later and Rey was very grateful she gave second chances. "And what's wrong with a little teasing every now and again?"

"From you, nothing. From her, a world of embarrassment."

"You just openly talk to your neighbor about our sex life?"

"Hard to avoid the conversations when she says she's unable to sleep with you _moaning_ so loudly each time." His hand trailed down her stomach and dipped under the waistband of the panties she'd somehow managed to find. A whimper was dragged from her throat and she knew he was grinning in the dim light.

"You are _no_ help, Ben Solo."

"I'm a _great_ help, darling. Help to myself, that is, seeing that I am unable to control myself when your voice gets heady."

In that moment, Rey hated him. Hated her stupid, ridiculous, tall as a skyscraper boyfriend who had never, in the year they'd been dating, passed up an opportunity to stick his hand down her pants. He found the correct way to touch her into a symphony with ease and had yet to give up on his dastardly tactics. She loved him, but she hated it.

He nudged her onto her back for a better angle, fingers toying around the edges of her folds. She rolled her eyes, irritated by the slowness. "Are we going to do this _again_ tonight?"

"No, I'm just going to finish what I started since you didn't finish with me."

"How many times do I have to tell you we can call it a night without me coming?"

"It's not fair."

"Yeah, it's not fair, but it feels good anyway so I don't care." She laced her hands into his dark hair, forcing him to keep eye contact. "I'm not easy, it sucks but I've learned to deal with it, and I have to sleep. I've got to be at work on time, not five minutes late looking like I've been dragged through a wet swampy hell."

His grin passed devious and went down the road of straight-up evil. "I'm not preventing you from sleeping."

" _Ben_."

He pecked a kiss at her jaw before starting a trail down her neck and chest, stopping to kiss each breast. "Just a few minutes, Rey, that's all I ask."

"No, I need to _sleep_."

She was rewarded with a light nip to her clit over the soft cotton of her panties. "Sorry, I've got other plans."

"So now we've flipped roles and you're begging to please your girlfriend?"

"I don't beg; I take what I want." His eyes held an intimidating possessiveness that always made heat curl down her spine. The sheer power he tended to coax more want out of her than she'd ever admit to him. She liked when he was rough—all teeth and nails and iron grips—but she'd never tell him, it would just encourage him to be gruff in public and _that_ would lead to single-stall bathrooms and the exhilaration of trying not to get caught.

He pulled the fabric of her underwear away and met her with a closed mouth, pressing a kiss to where her hip met her inner thigh. "You're incredibly beautiful, not sure if I've ever told you before."

"Only about twice a day for the past four hundred odd days. You're riddled with lust right now."

"I'm always riddled with lust for you." He drew a sharp breath before drawing his tongue languidly up her entrance, stopping to suck gently on her clit. "Do you want this quick and dirty or agonizingly slow?"

"I want to go to _sleep_ ," she whined, already missing his warmth on her skin. _Thanks body, great to know you're a traitor too_.

Her underwear found the floor for a second time that night. "Good, I like it fast and hard better anyway."

The end was nigh. There was no escaping this man.

She had to bite her hand to stop the low groan that came clawing up her ribs when he slipped two fingers inside, mouth still on her more sensitive spot. His fingers were a little cold and she clenched against the feeling, causing him to chuckle against her. Oh, fuck, that felt fantastic.

His free hand locked around one of her thighs, preventing her from rocking against him. Bastard, fucking evil goddamn son of a—

"You can't be actively trying to ride my face _and_ trying to sleep at the same time. One or the other, _sweetheart_."

"I hate that fucking name, Jesus _fucking_ —"

"Language, darling. I know you grew up in the woods but these _swears_ , girl. Whatever will I do with that dirty mouth?"

"Probably stick your huge cock in it."

"Again?" He curled his fingers inside her and she yelped, white goodness spiking her senses. "Maybe in the morning."

Dipping back down, he was quick to turn her into jelly. A master with his tongue, he darted quickly then steadily, his pace erratic and frustrating. Shallow lick, deep thrust of fingers, nibble on her clit, quick short pumps with one, two, fuck, _three_ fingers. Was he trying to fill her up or — _Christ._

"Are you going to keep swearing until dawn or actually come for me tonight?" he asked after a particularly languid lave.

"I don't know." Her voice was weak and strangled with arousal. "I need you, Ben."

He rolled over her clit with his thumb, rubbing small, slow circles. "Well, here I am."

"No, I need you _in_ me. Please."

"Then we'll be up another hour. Pass me the bullet?"

With a whine, Rey nudged herself onto her elbows and scrambled a shaky hand through his nightstand drawer, pulling out a small silk bag. She tossed it to him before sinking back into the bedding, spine refusing to work properly. He pulled out a small pale green silicone vibrator and she knew from that moment on she was doomed.

A kiss to her clit, he teased the bullet around her thighs first, then her entrance, bringing it to press against her clit. _Hard_. The pressure of it drove her wild combined with the sensation of his long, dexterous fingers stroking breathy moans inside her. He found a sweet spot and she lost control, her climax deafening and blinding. All senses but touch were lost until the overstimulation kicked in and she was edging on sore, the bullet still pulsing against her.

He smirked at her when she came down, his eyes full of mischievousness. "One day I'm getting a remote bullet for use during dinner parties."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Picture it," he said softly, taking a tissue from the box by the bed before passing her a few. "You in some gorgeous dark ensemble, the very definition of grace." Toy wrapped for cleanup in the morning, her inched back up to her, leaving wet kisses on puckered skin. "All the while trying your best to keep quiet against the vibrator in your hot, tight pussy, never knowing when it'll go off." He bit her neck softly enough that no mark remained, but hard enough that she gasped. "And I'll be across the table from you, grinning like a madman the whole time, knowing how rough you'll take me when we leave."

"Has anyone told you that you're practically Satan, Ben?"

"On numerous occasions, usually in a less entertaining context."

He rolled onto his side, nudging her to fold into him. She obliged with a small smirk and an eye roll; she was _not_ the cuddler of this relationship and she was not the one who went out of the way to spoon whenever they lay beside one another. He'd probably kill her if she admitted to him she thought it was adorable.

"My mother's coming up next weekend."

"Is that why you brought up the remote vibrator?"

"God no, _no_ that will _not_ be tested out around my mom. She'll know somehow, she knows everything somehow."

"It'll be nice to meet her finally."

"She'll love you, I promise."

Rey yawned, drowsiness starting to overtake her body. Sick of their position already, she wriggled around to face him, kissing him softly, the taste of her faint on his lips. He grinned down at her, contentedness calm across his face. His skin mixed beautifully with the orangey hues of the city lights, making brilliant his smile. Oh, yes, she loved this time of night best.


	2. First Mistakes

**Summary:** She's the new intern, he manages a different department. Fate likes to push adversaries into unlikely situations.  
 **Rating:** T

* * *

She's fresh out of the jungle, for a lack of a better term.

The new intern down in design eats like a starved animal and laughs like a hyena. Her cheeks are still stained rosy from her overseas exploits and her tan has yet to fade, making her look strange and out of place in the growing chill of pale fall. She isn't learning in his department so they haven't been introduced, but he knows her supervisor well and can't help himself from asking about the annoying curiosity filling Jean's old place.

Dameron cocks an eyebrow, somewhat surprised he needs to ask. "That's Kenobi's grandkid."

" _Sir_ Benjamin Kenobi's spawn? _The_ Sir Ben Kenobi. We have _his_ relative in our program?"

"Guess she doesn't take after the family much." Dameron shrugs and sips his coffee. "She's been out in the Great Victoria Desert with him for the past few months doing research on skinks."

"What's she doing _here?_ "

"Studying for her MEng apparently."

"She's a child."

"Older than she looks. Brilliant, too."

Ben sighs, not getting anywhere. "Can you do anything about her table manners?"

"Worried about how the execs will take it?"

"I'm an executive, dumbass."

Dameron bites his lip. They've known each other for too long not to be familiar and it bleeds into their work more than it should. He recovers graceful as always. "I'll talk to her about it."

It takes the walk back to his office to realize he didn't ask for the intern's name. No matter, he was sure he'd hear it soon enough.

However, he doesn't expect to learn it from a screaming match. It's playful from what he can tell, but too loud, too disruptive. The engineering interns occasionally work with the developers in the basement levels of the building in great big white spaces littered with tools and pencils. He needs to speak with a particular dev about a blueprint proposal that's going up in a few hours—has a few details he can't _quite_ read—and he makes the trip himself, knowing he'll never get Jantz into his office.

The messy girl with the wild hair is _shouting_ at Dameron's gold-star prodigy—he's an intern who transferred from another company, his name is Frank or Finn or Fred, something like that. The two are verbally duking it out over a drafting table about some _incredibly_ minor detail. She's pointing a wrench threateningly at him, but she's smirking as she's doing it.

This needs to stop _now_.

He's beside them immediately, a tall looming adversary in a black three-piece suit and dark red tie. He knows he's an intimidating presence and the nonsense stops the second he's wedged himself between it.

"I do not care who started it," he begins, passing a cold gaze over the two of them, "but you'll both stop it, _now_."

They quiet instantly. Forrest talks. "Dr. Solo, we weren't—"

"I don't care, just quit yelling. You're giving me agita." He does his best to keep up the cold politician's mask he inherited from his mother. "Could one of you _calmly_ find Jantz?"

The annoying pair exchange a look and the girl answers him. "Jantz?"

Lord. "Short, big laugh, too young to be as grey as he's getting."

"Oh, Dr. Franklin. Rey could you—"

The girl nods and hurries off, leaving her coworker uncomfortably in the company of the dark suit who runs the show many stories above this floor. He's not really inclined to speak and pulls out his phone, making quick changes to his calendar. He'll have to skip meeting with Susan from financial for lunch and push back the appointment with—

"Ben!"

Ever the authority-disrespecting wiseass. He smiles big and claps the eccentric engineer on the back. "Jantz, just the man I needed to see." As they lead off to a different part of the drafting room, he catches the girl's eyes on him. She looks determined, almost aggressive in her frustration. She's upset by authority? Good. Cry yourself a waterfall, little jungle cat. This was _his_ turf.

"What the hell is his problem?" Rey asks when the big black eagle disappears from earshot. "Why's he bothering with us if he's a _doctor?_ "

"PhD, not medical. That's Benjamin Solo, the vice chair of some department or another."

The name rings a few bells, but she doesn't know why. "And what's his job?"

"Generally making life miserable and pushing production speed until we all die." Finn shrugs and glares at the door behind which Solo has disappeared. "And being a downright asshole."

"He looks awfully young to be a _vice chair_."

"You know Skywalker up in Flight Operations?"

That man is a legend. "Of course, what about him?"

"That's his uncle."

"So it's all a game of spoils?"

"No, I think the family is just talented."

Rey mulls Finn's words over for the rest of her shift. She glances up when movement crosses her line of sight, catching eyes with Solo when he leaves. He looks cocky and she glares for a split second before returning to her work. She isn't interested in losing this internship and she keeps her trap shut, vowing to avoid the grim reaper at every turn.

She takes the subway downtown with Finn when they finish their mockup draft of a basic wing part, neither satisfied but both too hungry to keep pressing into the late night. Besides, she has classes tomorrow morning and doesn't want to risk coming in like a zombie, graphite marks coating her face when she doesn't have the time to shower.

He's lived in this city for the better half of the past eight years, attending college and working a few odd jobs and internships. She decides he probably has a better clue about where to eat and what bars to check out so she follows him down into the lower east side.

"You haven't had _real_ American Chinese food before, have you?" he asks when they step off the platform, hurrying out to escape the rancid smell of sweat and machinery.

"I didn't know there was _fake_ American Chinese food, though the whole thing sounds like an oxymoron."

Finn laughs. He's got a great big grin—it's friendly, she likes it. "C'mon, I know a great little hole in the wall."

The restaurant is loud, small, and dim. The colors on the walls are all shades or reds, browns, and golds, giving the air of a distant place in a faraway time. Spices and smoke hang heavy in the air and the candles on the table obscure the tone of her skin. She doesn't know a thing on the menu and gives up less than halfway through the dishes, opting to ask Finn what he recommends. He says everything, which is no help.

The beer is a little sour and tastes faintly of plums, but it's rich and cold and she loves how it goes with the rice and duck dish that she mistakenly ordered. It's weird to be here, weird and surreal, like she's drifting around outside herself. Months of being surrounded by sand and scrub has left her a little lonely, and though she loves her grandfather, he isn't the most understandable man. But here, she likes here.

They part ways after dinner with a brief hug and she has to jog a few blocks to catch the B home across the river. She walks the few streets to her apartment on the high alert that had set in the moment her feet hit the ground after dark. She unlocks the door to her tiny apartment after a few tries with the deadbolt and is greeted by the sweet, sweet sound of utter silence…minus the traffic outside. This place can never seem to sleep and it suits her fine.

In the darkness of her small studio space, she lays on her sparse bed with her laptop on her stomach, scrolling through any information she can find on this Ben Solo. His accomplishments seem impressive and she hates him more for that. Eight years her senior and twenty years ahead in the business, what a jackass.

Morning comes and she trips over another box she swears she'll unpack one of these days. Rey has been in the states for two months now but still can't seem to find the time to get her life outside of school in order. She thought taking a year and a half off would help her organize but no, god no. She's out the door on time thankfully and arrives to class in _real_ clothes, not another suit jacket or a skirt. She's so thankful to have all that ridiculous training out of the way.

"How many classes _are_ you taking this semester?" Finn asks when he sets down across from her for coffee, eying the tall pile of textbooks beside her computer.

"Three. Feels better than college but I am _drowning_ under the work."

"Wait until next year, then _everything_ starts to fall apart. Social life, bills, job. Everything."

"Thanks for the assurance, Mr. Optimist." She takes a bite of the muffin sitting neglected by her coffee. "What time are you on today?"

"Like, four-something. You?"

"I'm due in at one."

"You're on your own for dinner tonight."

"I'm also on my own with the man in black."

Finn rolls his eyes. "We're _engineering_ interns working on _wings_. He works with the _rocket scientists_."

She feels her jaw drop a little. "Of _course_ he does."

"So you're fine, Rey, you're not going to run into him."

Oh, but she was.

She _was_.

It turns out they took coffee breaks at the same time on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. She would see him in the shop closest to their building and duck immediately out of his sight, paralyzed with the fear of getting the boot. He seems to hate her more than she can justifiably understand and she _really loves_ this internship. But alas, her luck has never been good, and after two weeks of dodged interactions, she turns and spills her drink all down his front.

It's clichéd as hell, it's horrible, and instead of apologizing, she says: "Did you have to stand so close to me?"

She bites her tongue the second the sentence leaves her mouth. Here comes the pulsing regret and the getting fired. It was here, it was here, it was—

"Have you ever looked before leaping, girl?" The papers in his hands are sopping wet but his suit is free of hot liquid. He looks pissed beyond all measure.

"Yes, in fact, and this wouldn't have happened if you weren't _breathing down my neck_." Where was this coming from? Why was she saying this?

"Apologies that you've lived in the _jungle_ for the better half of a year, but cities are crowded and there is no room for personal space."

"Desert. Australian desert."

"Whatever. Could you move so I can _order_ , or are you here to deny me a caffeine fix on top of verbally assaulting me?"

He…he isn't going to fire her?

"You're not giving me the boot?"

"Hadn't considered it until now."

Oh, lord. What was she supposed to do? Bribe him? Offer favors—sexual favors? Suck his dick?—cry, bargain? What? She couldn't lose this opportunity—

"Can I get you dinner?"

What the _fuck_.

The barista fixing his drink has the good mind to not pay their conversation heed. Solo raises a tall eyebrow. "I didn't know we were paying interns enough to take executives out to _dinner_."

No, no, no, no, _no_.

"Small, not fancy. Erm, I—"

Second eyebrow goes up. "A _date_?"

Fuck.

"No."

He gives her a once over after he hands the cashier his card. "Collect your thoughts and figure out what it is you're trying to do here."

"I can't lose this internship and I don't want to get sacked."

"You'll be grateful to know I can't sack you, nor would I for something so petty as spilled coffee." Card back, wallet replaced in the pocket of his sweeping overcoat. "What time are you off tonight?"

Oh Christ, no, she didn't want this. "Can't we forget the whole—"

"Dear, dear, but you already offered. It would be rude of me to decline."

His voice is soft but grating with mockery. She can't stand him. "Eight."

"Perfect, I'll fetch you."

He doesn't know why he's torturing her. Descending the stairs to the first of the basement labs, he finds her on the small pale peach bench between the elevators, rubbing her fingers together nervously. She at least has on slacks, but her top is a denim button-down smeared with grease and charcoal. He's a vision of meticulous tailoring and she looks like a mechanic's daughter—no matter where she takes him, one of them will stick out sorely.

"Can we please just call this off? I don't actually know a lot of places to eat." She's not looking up from her feet.

"It's a big city, there are hundreds of places to go."

"We don't know each other."

"That's the point of dinner."

She looks up and cocks an eyebrow. "You hate me."

"I think you can be annoying but I don't hate you." Besides, she was a little pretty when she wasn't acting like a savage. "If you don't have anywhere in mind, I know a few places close by. If it all goes poorly, we don't ever have to speak again."

He winds up choosing and takes her a few blocks up to a little French restaurant where the walls are blue and the lighting is green and orange, a mood like the shore settling on the tables and chairs. It's dark enough inside that the stains on her shirt blend into the dark blue material. He is overdressed for this place, but she would be underdressed anywhere else.

She orders a beer before he has the chance to buy a wine for the table and bites his tongue at the uncouthness. Jungle girl can live like she's in the jungle for all he cares. He gets a cocktail instead.

The silence between them is thick and uncomfortable.

"What made you come here to study?" he asks after too long a pause.

"Oh, it's somewhere new I had yet to visit. I haven't spent a lot of time in big cities so I thought it might be a nice change of pace. It bustles, I like it." She takes a sip of her drink. Foam catches on her lips and he finds himself watching as she licks it away. "You have a doctorate in…"

"Astrodynamics. I make the satellites go round in circles."

She smiles a little, the tension easing. "I feel like you're oversimplifying things."

"Me? Never. Always drawn out to the last detail." He decides then that he likes her smile, how it reaches up to her eyes. "You're here for your MEng. Surprised you're not off for a biology masters."

"Granddad would have liked that, but…" She folds her hands and rests her chin atop, gaze elsewhere. "Don't tell the old man, but I've always liked machines better than creatures. That, and I've always loved the stars."

"So instead of being an astronaut, you want to build the ships?"

"Don't think I'd like being stuck in such a small space for so many months. Would you?"

"I've never given it a second thought."

Their food arrives and he can see her deliberate the manner in which she intends to eat. She waits for him, following slowly instead of scarfing it all down at once. He's entertained to say the least.

A few bites into his meal, he breaks the less-uncomfortable quiet. "Where was your favorite place you've visited?"

"That's an unfair question." She sets down her fork to deliberate. "I loved Sigiriya, but that was more of a detour than research. Granddad did some work with the elephants in Sri Lanka though. Tibet was beautiful too, and New Zealand. It's hard to choose."

"I didn't realize you're a bona fide world traveler."

"My grandfather's a naturalist, of course he's taken me everywhere."

"And you go and settle in a city with a few great big parks and even bigger skyscrapers, content in the basement of a building in midtown."

"It's a new world to compare against the one I've known. I like it here."

"Which is nice to hear. We tend to take a lot of pride in our city." He finishes off his drink, setting the glass down lightly. "This isn't as horrible as you thought it would be, is it?"

"Still not convinced you don't hate me." She says it with a smirk.

"What if I let you pick the next place we go?"

"Dinner and a movie is too much of a date. How do you feel about a jazz club?"

He likes jazz clubs.

He likes the ambient blue and purple of the lights, how they make the white furniture change in hue with the slightest shift of shadows. The violets play well around her dark hair and hazel eyes, making her teeth glow whenever she laughs. Usually when he goes out with coworkers, they wind up at a bar cheering on one sports team or another. For a group of math geniuses and physicists, they all surprisingly got far too worked up about a game of football. This also isn't how he sees Susan, their interactions loaded like a hot pistol ready to go off, but neither can bother pulling the trigger. Maybe they should stop toying with each other one of these days and just cut the lunch scandal loose.

"Rey." Her name rolls nicely around his mouth. She turns from watching the band to look at him. God, she's young. "What got you into jazz?"

"Finn, believe it or not. He's one of the other interns. First week we met he took me here."

He frowns a little. "Are you two…?"

"No." She laughs, shaking her head at the thought. "We're just friends, and I think he's got a thing for someone else." She shifts so she faces him entirely, taking a sip of her electric blue drink. "And you, are you seeing anyone?"

"I have lunch with a woman I cannot stand, does that count?"

She smirks a little, eyes bright. "No, I don't think it does."

"I've been doing this the wrong way for years, then."

Her laugh is starting to grow on him, untamed and exuberant. "Don't worry, so have I."

He's starting to think she's not so annoying after all. Maybe she's even a little cute.


	3. (He's) Falling

**Summary:** Twice Ben Solo thinks something is coming to a boil, then finally it hits him.  
 **Rating:** M

* * *

He's woken up to pounding at his front door, the sound echoing through the apartment. So he gets up, stumbles a little in a groggy stupor, and claws the deadbolt away. It's ten in the morning so he has no excuse, but it's a Saturday after a long night of drinking, so his hangover gets full reins.

He yanks the door open with the enviable grace of an elephant to see her standing in the hallway, face cross and hands on her hips. She's fully dressed. He's in a worn out t-shirt and boxers.

"Good morning, Sunshine."

"You have some things I need."

She pushes by him without waiting for a 'come on in, Rey, it's good to see you.' At once she's tearing for his bedroom, sinking her talons into his bedding and tossing pillows about. His brain wakes up.

"Whoa, whoa, what the _hell_ has gotten into you?"

Hand on the doorframe he's halfway in the room, panicked and a little nervous. She looks like she's got the fires of hell on her heels and her eyes are glinting with determination. Whatever she wants, she's not leaving without it.

She mumbles something, slightly placated for a disoriented moment.

"Pardon?"

"My _underpants_ , Ben Solo, you're hording every _fucking_ pair I own. I want them back." She's gone beet red.

"There's no _possible_ way—"

"I just did the wash, I've got two clean pairs. Where do you keep putting them?"

He never realized he was such a panty thief.

"Oh. Shit. Um, hold on a moment."

What was happening had good intentions behind it, but his execution was piss poor. She'd come over some nights after work, they swear they'd just have dinner and get to bed, but he had no self-control around her and he'd have her bent over some piece of furniture before the end of the night (on occasion she'd have _him_ leaning on the kitchen table begging for _sweet_ mercy) and her underwear would always go missing. She'd leave in a hurry for work the next morning without them (he takes full advantage of these days with wandering fingers whenever she's in his office alone). He would find them somewhere, usually tossed on the floor, once or twice on the ceiling fan above his bed. He'd then throw them in with his laundry with the intent to give them back the next time she was over, but instead she just sacrificed another pair to his whorish needs.

He rustles through the one unused drawer of his dresser and pulls out an armload of clean underwear, all hers. They vary in color and pattern but are all more girlish than womanly, with frilly patterns, pastel hearts, and cute bows. Her eyes bug a bit when she sees how many he's got stashed away.

"What the _fuck_ , Ben."

"I'm sorry! You keep leaving them here when you scurry off like the sheets will fry you if you stay in my bed too long!"

She laughs for a short moment before noticing the strained look on his face. "I thought you'd want me to leave when I got up."

"No, I want you in my bed pretending to sleep so when _I_ wake up I can go down on you for the fourth or fifth time."

She bites her lip so slightly. He knows that's her favorite damn thing about sleeping with him, the fact that he can't stop putting his head between her legs. The _sounds_ she makes, oh lord the _sounds_.

He takes a thick breath. Something's come to fruition in his rattled brain. "What are you doing tonight?"

"I was going to eat cold Chinese food in my pajamas while getting my soul wrecked by one of my mid-semester projects until I pass out on my couch. Why?"

"I have Fall tickets to the ballet—well, they're my mother's, but she's not flying out here just to see it."

She goes quiet. "I don't have any nice dresses."

"Buy me coffee and we can amend that."

"Are you…" Rey tilts her head, squinting. "Are you asking me out?"

"Bound to happen, isn't it?"

"No! I'm supposed to ask _you_ out! I've been trying to come up with the perfect—" She stops and glares at him. "You one-up me at everything and I hate you for it."

He tosses the panties on the bed so his hands are free to slip around her waist. "I can give you the tickets and we can pretend I didn't say it first."

"If I'm taking you somewhere it's more likely a shitty bar in the Village with mason jar candles and some horrible misanthrope at the microphone."

"Perfect." He kisses her cheek, excited to finally share with her all this sickeningly sugary pent-up affection he's found buried somewhere in his chest. "Help me pick out my worst pair of jeans?"

She laughs. "You own _jeans?_ "

* * *

They're sprawled on his couch one crisp October evening, her head in his lap, his hand down her pants (she isn't lying, he always does this the second they're alone), and she's trying her very best not to squirm and groan while they're marathoning some string of awful horror movies from the 60s. He's not actually interested in what's happening but _she_ is, and he's doing his damnedest to distract her.

"If you wanted to _really_ pay attention, you could have watched these at home," he says casually as he _finally_ manages to draw a whine from her.

"I _wanted_ to spend time with _you_ , but this is _not_ what I had in mind."

"I thought you wanted to come over and watch movies?"

" _Watch_ movies, I wanted— _fuck, Ben_."

He hit that one spot, he can tell from the look in her eyes. She's a little dazed and he knows she'll be losing her words soon enough. He leans down to steal the next moan from her mouth. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Please just let me sit up."

He removes his hand from her pajama bottoms and lets her up, licking his soiled fingers in a deliberately slow manner. She watches in a trance a moment before smacking his shoulder playfully and moving to sit in his lap, her head under his chin. He likes the smallness of her curled into his frame and he tucks his arms neatly around her waist before kissing the top of her head.

"Better?"

"You're such a pushover."

He bites her neck for the comment, chuckling against her skin. "I told you the first night—you make me easy."

"You said you're an easy _drunk_."

"I lied about the wording a bit." He's getting to be so soft around her; it's disgusting. "You are _incredibly_ pretty though, that was the truth."

She smiles at him—grins, really—and he makes a quiet vow to burn the whole city down if someone were to take her smile away.

* * *

He's flat on his back, it's New Years—or rather, it's 11-something on December 31st—and the most beautiful thing he's ever had the pleasure to touch is perched on top of him, her skin coated with a light sheen that glows in the city lights. Her hair's an utter mess, thick with sweat and full of pins she didn't bother to remove before mounting him and driving him mad. His hands are iron on her hips and his legs are a little shaky. She's so _hot_ around him; so damn _tight_ that he's doing everything he can to not lose himself before she peaks again. He arches his back and _moans_ her name louder than he ever thought he would.

" _You're_ getting loud?" she asks through hot breaths, her thighs no doubt exhausted by now. "That's a new accomplishment for me." She stops dead and slides off him, making him whimper, hands clamped harder on her hips.

"Rey, please, don't stop."

"Moan for me."

"What?" He's not hearing her right through this lust-addled fog.

" _Moan_ for me, Ben Solo." She dips to kiss his neck, bite his ear. "I want to hear you scream when you come for once."

"I don't—"

She's palming his balls with one hand and his head rolls back. Fuck this woman. He'd fuck this woman to hell.

With a roar, he tackles her over onto her back, pinning her hands above her head. She always gets doe-eyed when he gets aggressive and the unfamiliar submissiveness never ceases to wham him hard in the chest with sheer want and overblown possessiveness. Fuck, he loves her.

Wait.

He loves her?

Stunned by his own thoughts, she manages to wriggle from his grasp and flip them back around so her legs are caging his hips. But as he's scrambling to understand this new idea that's popped up and refuses to leave, she moves down and—

"Do you have any idea where that's _been?_ "

"Yeah." She licks up from the base of his cock and his toes stop existing. "In me. I know where _I've_ been."

"You can't."

She swirls around the head and he has a hard time breathing, already so fucking aroused from her riding him, her breasts swaying above him, her head back as he hit a particularly sensitive spot—

"I can." She's got one hand stroking him now and his fingers are wrapped up in the bed sheets to the point where he's afraid they'll fray. Or he would be afraid if his brain were thinking good with stuff.

"This is going to end up on your face if you don't— _stop_." He groans loudly and feels it hum deep in his chest. It brings her gaze up to his. If he had a little less control, he'd probably lose everything from the way she looks so pleased to have him buried in her mouth. "Get back up here, we're doing this together."

She kisses his tip after pulling him out and good _god_ could she get any sexier? He doesn't think so, but she'll prove him wrong if he makes any comments. "This would be doing it together."

"It's New Years Eve and god dammit I want to end the year looking _up_ at your face, not _down_ at my cock. I can do that most nights by myself."

"Fine, fine." She returns up to him and kisses him hard before mounting him again. Her face looks so perfect in that split second each time, a look of blissful fullness. He doesn't last very long with one of her hands on his chest and he does moan her name, loudly enough that she has to kiss him to make him shut up.

She finishes herself off quickly and settles down on his chest, breath coming in heavy on his skin. "Better?"

"So much better." He's still in some wild world of white haze and he wraps his arms around her so tightly, god he could hold her here forever. "Glad we left that party?"

"I'm glad to not have to talk to Hux for a second longer. He's _beyond_ infuriating, I don't know how you do it."

"With a lot of practice." Ben ducks his head down to pepper her cheeks with kisses, an elated feeling spilling from his ribs. He thinks he does love her—quite a lot, in fact—but they've only been seeing each other for a few months and he…he doesn't want to scare her away. So he'll keep quite for a while longer. Until then, well—

Rey giggles, tugging at his hair. "You can be pretty cute, you know that?"

"Please, I'm not half as good as you." He buries his face in the crook of her neck, biting down until she groans in pleasure.

She deserved so much better than him and he wasn't sure why she stuck around, but he was glad for it. Fuck, he was so glad.


	4. (She's) Falling

**Summary:** An abysmal date and a little bit of domestic banter have to happen before she realizes what's beginning to bloom in her own chest.  
 **Rating:** M

* * *

She doesn't want to say it's grungy, but it is. The music is better than she promised and she thinks that's okay, but she realizes she has no idea what kind of music he likes. They've been hooking up for a month, but it's never been about much more than the sex. And it's good, she's not complaining, she just…doesn't know who he is as a person. They spoke about themselves a little that first night, but since, it's been nothing but teeth and moans, with exhausting nights and large coffee mornings.

He's cute though. Rey steals a glance at Mr. Tall Dark and Corporate from over her beer. His eyes are on the performers to her left, head turned to expose the long pale length from his jaw to the collarbone peaking from his V-neck. He dressed down for her—to the point where he was almost unrecognizable—and she decides she likes him in thin shirts and leather jackets, his boots climbing midway up his calves. But there's that ever-posh look about his aquiline nose and thick brows he'll never be fully able to shake.

Her eyes dart away when he turns back to take a sip of his bourbon, long fingers cradling his glass. For two people who have been intimate, they both seem so uncomfortable around each other.

"This isn't as whiny as you said it would be."

"Yeah."

"The alcohol's not too shitty either."

"It's not." She takes a swig of her beer to avoid talking again. A fear begins to creep up her spine. They're good in bed together, but what if they're not good together at anything else? Maybe they should just cut the night's losses, go home, fuck, and she can leave early in the morning before he wakes up.

It sounds like a good idea. He doesn't seem to be all that interested in her and her heart sinks a little further down in her chest. Finn had warned her—warned her the _second_ she told him about when they'd gone out to dinner—but she'd been too pigheaded to listen. She should have listened. Ben Solo likes to play with his food before dumping it uneaten into the trashcan.

She loses herself to her microbrew while the internal debate takes place. On one hand, she can cut her losses and get out without too much heartache. It's not like she _invested_ a lot of emotions into him. It's not like he's been her first thing since that god-awful college boyfriend who left her hanging from _so many_ metaphorical cliff faces. It's not like she had a little hope.

"I'll be right back," she says as she pushes herself up from their booth, twisting through the tables and laughing faces to the lady's room. She needs a moment to herself, but she also needs to pee. Fuck beer.

The bathroom is nicer than ones at most bars, which probably came from the benefit of the music venue. It's a little dim inside, but the lights are yellow-white and not the wildly dark blues, greens, and violets in the main portion of the house. The moment she's in the stall, she whips out her phone to send a frantic text to Finn. He's going to go on about how he told her so, but she doesn't care much in the moment. She really should have listened to her best friend.

 _Where are you?_ She knows he'll be somewhere in Chelsea at this time of night. He and Poe have a favorite sports bar they like to go to with the rest of the dev team to get pleasantly drunk and annoyingly worked up over soccer. For an aerospace manufacturing company, it seems a little strange that getting hired seems to require a _love_ of sports.

 _Smithfield. It's a Saturday—is that really a question?_

She maps it—a twenty-minute walk, but the F will be running for another few hours. She could get the fuck out of here. _Might swing by, I'll keep you posted_.

He texts back a question mark, but she doesn't answer—can't answer, not right now. She can tell him when she sees him, it's not like her date is all that interested in her anyway.

She fusses with her hair in the mirror, already sick of having it down. She hates how it gets in her face and won't _ever_ stay out of her eyes. Impractical. It's a real wonder how she hasn't lopped it all off yet.

Ben is as distant as before when she returns, even hardly seems to notice she'd left. It takes a lot of strength not to bolt past their table and head for the door, but she sits down with a little less grace than before. He raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

The band is good. She likes the band. They've got an arrangement of brass instruments and strings, playing some mish-mash mix up of ska and big band. It's the only redeemable factor of this night. She chugs the last of her beer, thankful she paid for it at the bar.

He looks about to say something but she steamrolls over it. "Listen, Ben, I don't think this is working out." It feels like she's stabbing _herself_ in the chest. "We had a good run with the other stuff, but this…we don't quite fit." She stands and his face betrays no emotions. "I'll see you around, yeah?"

A beat, and he nods. "Yeah."

Walking out of the bar, it feels like her heels are skewering every last shred of hope she had. Whatever. The chilly autumn air hits her and it's whatever, he's just another dead end. Like all of them thus far. She can't say she's surprised, not when they all amount to nothing every time.

The F finds her on the Avenue of the Americas and she hurries the few blocks to West 25th, a huge weight dissolving as she pulls open the door to the bar. She finds Finn easily and wedges herself between him and Niamh, the only other girl intern in their department. She and the small blonde mouse exchange friendly smiles before Rey turns all of her attention to Finn.

"I should have listened."

"What's our girl done _now?_ " Poe is to Finn's left, leaning on the table to see around. He's got one eyebrow cocked and a tall stout in his right hand.

A long sigh and she lets herself start to fracture. "I was sort of seeing Solo for a while and we went out tonight and just…he's really not interested."

"Even _I_ could have told you that." Jerry from across the table, works in fuel technology. He's good people. "He's always making moony eyes at Hux."

The table recoils at the name. There is a collective hatred for the chief propulsion engineer. Everyone likes rockets; no one likes Hux.

"Really Rey, we all thought you had better taste than _that_."

"Hey, at least _I_ am not making cute eyes at _Satan_."

That gets a laugh and she finds herself chuckling along. She likes this crowd. They're fun and full of warmth, all smiles at the peak of the evening. Someone orders her a pint and she stammers out a thank you, not knowing many of them here all that well, surprised an unfamiliar face would do something so nice for _her_.

One of the teams on the television above scores and half the table cheers—not like animals, but like enthusiastic parents at a little league game. She's smiling again. Why had she sacrificed bonding with her coworkers for sleeping around with an executive? That was a stupid fucking decision if she ever made one.

"Do you guys do this every Saturday?"

"Not every, but most," Finn says, picking around a leftover entrée. "You feeling better?"

"A lot, yeah. Everyone's so friendly."

"We're a good bunch, you know? And we've only been trying to get you to come out with us for a _month._ But you'll be free to now, won't you?"

She takes a drink of her beer, new warmth in her chest. " _Absolutely_."

When the night winds down, she says goodbye and begins the long journey home with Niamh who happens to live a few neighborhoods away from her. It bothers her that she didn't know, never asked. Niamh is short and a little mousy, but she has a grin too big for her small face and wears clothes with shorter hems and more style than Rey ever will in her life. She likes Niamh; sad they haven't spoken too much yet.

"Don't let him drag you too far down," she says when they approach her apartment first. "Solo's always been a jerk; it's nothing you've done or haven't done."

"I know."

"Then stop acting like you don't." She grins and it's huge, catching the streetlamps. "Chin up. I'll see you on Monday!"

"Good night!"

The walk home isn't as hollow as she feared it could be, but a little piece of dread sticks with her until she's under her covers, sleep surrounding her every move. She's going to be fine. He was only another guy.

Monday morning was more tense than usual, the interns scattering and rushing about, another deadline pushed _way_ the fuck up past the point of unreasonable. The engineers they were working with today were equally annoyed and frustrated, dashing about like greyhounds in a race.

"Fuck Solo." She hears it out of more than one mouth. He's fucking mad and she agrees. _Fuck_ Benjamin Solo and the hell he's wrought upon Aerodynamics. She won't be surprised if they throw him to the hounds by the end of the day.

"We're not even his fucking _department_ ," she hisses at Finn over the crackle of a welding torch.

" _Clearly_ no one is reining him in."

Then, finally, at two in the morning, it stops. Rey is exhausted and she tosses her gloves onto her workbench like they're made of fire ants. Everything is sore and she's not going to make it back to her apartment. She knows Software has a lounge somewhere on their floor and she's determined to call it home for a night.

"I'm not too far uptown," Finn says when he sees the conflict rushing across her face. "I have a couch too."

"Is it comfortable?"

"More comfortable than the bricks upstairs."

He also lives close to the 2, making her way home in the morning a lot easier.

The work rush continues on for a week and she has a hard time getting to her classes and back, panicking over whichever place she isn't. By Friday night, they've finished the horrible project that feels almost cobbled together, more slapdash than precise. Thank god the chemistry department isn't around to witness their careless work habits—they'd all have heart attacks.

And on Friday night, her black nightmare is stalking through their lab, long dark coat flowing around his calves. He looks enraged and the younger team members all back up, not wanting to catch his eye or risk getting fired. In the month they slept together, she forgot how mercilessly intimidating he tended to be, how _cruel_ his eyes usually seemed. This reminder is unpleasant.

"It's passable," he says with a cold tone before sweeping away and vanishing up the stairs.

"We're not fired," one of the devs sighs in relief.

He didn't even pass her a glance. Her suspicions are confirmed and it stings, it stings so badly.

Her ruthless fury dissipates into a dejected fog and she gathers up her books and materials, wishing Finn a good night as she slips on her coat. At last she can go home and sleep uninterrupted with fears of intellectual inadequacy.

But _he's_ outside the building doors, hands in his pockets, looking out onto the street. It's busy as it should be on a late Friday night. She stiffens and makes a concentrated effort to get the _fuck_ away from this man.

"Rey."

And now she's a statue full of anger. She manages to turn halfway, not looking at him directly. "What do you want?"

He doesn't flinch, not once.

"To apologize for being a jerk."

She thinks of how he's dragged them through hell, and then she thinks of her own hurt. "Yeah, well, you're a week too late, Solo."

He chuckles, his voice humorless. "In trying not to fuck things up, I royally fucked things up and am in no place to ask for a second chance. Have a good night, Rey."

She watches him walk away with her heart thundering in her chest. She feels like she should run after him, shout, do something to make him turn back around, but instead she pivots on her heel and heads for home, more ready for sleep than anything else.

Saturday night she goes out with the gang to Smithfield and has a proper burger with a tall Irish beer, laughing and chatting with her new set of friends. But the whole night feels a little hollow, worse than last Saturday, and she can't explain where the feeling is coming from. Poe catches it first and head-butts her shoulder, trying to encourage her to laugh.

"No frowns here, sweet cheeks," he warns with a playful glint in his eye. She smiles and waves him off, plastering a fake cheeriness on her face that lasts all of a half hour. Then she's back on the train to mope central. It's been a cold long week without spending any of it in Ben's bed. A spike quietly lodges itself between her ribs. It was against the rules to develop feelings for a hookup and she committed a cardinal sin. Now if only it didn't hurt so badly.

They've got her laughing again by the time they all head out, the next event on the agenda another bar in the area that's hosting a drag night. She hasn't been to one in ages and the excitement of going is enough of a buzz for her to snap from that dreadful melancholia.

On the way, the party runs almost directly into another set of coworkers, both groups confused about the other. The newcomers are better dressed and Rey can see Phasma's platinum hair before she recognizes the rest of them. She has her arm linked with Solo's and Rey suddenly very much regrets being anywhere near the front of the group. Finn goes rigid beside her.

She avoids eye contact and walks around them, her group parting like the Red Sea around the higher ups. She holds back all emotions for another two blocks and then cracks. She hates being weak, she hates that this is the only thing that makes her weak.

"You're worth more than him, c'mon." Poe has an arm around her and she nods, knowing he's right but aching so badly regardless. She deserves so much more than him.

Wednesday morning she's called into the office of the Ginger Witch himself. She's never been to this part of the building, barely having time to venture further than the third flood. Hux has grease on his face and a snarl building on his lips, but he seems to calm a little with her presence. She has no clue why rocketry would want a thing to do with her.

"Make up with him please," he says while tinkering with an engine piece. She never expected _Hux_ to be someone who worked with his hands. It had to be a job requirement. "He's the whiniest, moody bitch right now and we'd all appreciate not being subjected to his constant fits."

"What's in it for me?"

His eyebrows quirk and he seems more frustrated. "What's in it for you? I don't know, actually, I see no benefits to making nice with Solo. He's a pompous asshole with little to no self control."

"Then what part of that makes you think _I_ want to subject myself to it?"

"You wanted to before." He stops, setting down his work. "You saw benefits to him. Have they disappeared?"

"He's not interested."

Something in Hux snaps. "Would the two of you stop being so _stubborn_? Go!"

She is shooed from his office and forcefully pushed towards a menacing dark wood door. Hux has the audacity to knock _for_ her before storming back down the hall to his project. Rey's stomach has more knots than a properly rigged sailboat.

A crushingly hard _it's open_ calls from beyond the wood and her hand hesitates on the knob. She can just accept his apology and be on her way. She doesn't need to start anything again, put herself in a position to get hurt again.

He has his back to her when she walks in, standing in front of a large tacked up collage of blueprints that make up a new satellite design. There are more numbers and equations scrawled on the pages than she's ever seen down in her department. Somehow, she feels she forgot he has a doctorate in a really _fucking_ complex branch of physics. His suit jacket is on the back of his chair and his vest is tight on his waist. He's not hers, but he _is_ beautiful. She wants to forget how she knows his shoulders look under his clothes.

"I'm going to have a tough time getting this thing into orbit with the size she's packing and the rockets we have available. My estimates are coming in too high for us to—"

He turns then and freezes for a brief moment. "That was Hux's knock. You're not Hux."

"I'm not Hux."

He grits his teeth before folding his arms across his chest. He looks like he's in a bit of pain. "Well, what do you want?"

"Hux asked me to make up with you."

"Of course he did." Solo returns to his blueprints, scribbling something out in a white pencil. "You can go."

"You don't want to make up?"

"No, not particularly. I had something to say when you didn't want to listen, and now I have nothing at all. I would appreciate if you don't slam the door on your way out."

"So that's it?"

"That's it."

She sighs, another bout of self-hatred brimming to the top of her lungs. She should know not to trust gingers at this point. She takes the few steps back to the office's entrance, doing her best not to look over her shoulder.

"You're really not going to fight for me?"

She closes the small sliver of open door. "Fight for _you_?" Her temper clicks on like a gas stove, with a hiss and a shot of flames. "Fight for someone who only wants me for _sex?_ Who has _no_ interested in me whatsoever? Who won't even _look_ at me in a room full of other people?" She's rounded on him now, stalking like a lioness to his desk, bristling as she does. "Fight for the man who had another _woman_ on his arm last Saturday? I pick my battles wisely; this isn't one I'm going to fight."

"On second thought, you're right, from that perspective it sounds like a bad idea." He's calm and she wants to punch him in the jaw. "You _should_ , however, let me fight for _you_ , since I am disgustingly infatuated to the point where I couldn't figure out how to _talk_ to you the second I had you in a situation that could procure a romance."

"To the point where you're sleeping with other women."

"Hux wants to jump Phasma's bones so we buddy up when we go out, nothing more. She's too tall for my liking."

She's got a snarl on her face, hands on her hips, temper not quelled an inch. "I'm not convinced I should give you another shot, sorry."

"And you shouldn't. I'm not worth it. Just thought I'd give it a shot." His shoulders relax and he slumps a little. "You're talented, Rey, and I wish you the best of luck downstairs."

He is a broken man before her, even if his seams and cracks are barely showing. The slightest glimpse is enough to know.

Her heart aches again and the traitor makes her speak. "What would you do with a second chance, if I gave one?"

"Take you home, make dinner, hold your hand somewhere the thought of being in public won't grate on my brain whenever I want to tell you how much your eyes shine. Something quiet left only for dreams. I'll see you around the office."

He plunges back into his work.

Her heart fractures down the middle.

"I'm finishing up at six today."

He turns half to her. "Don't do this out of pity."

"It's not pity. I'll wait for you in the lobby."

His smile is beautiful, she decides, and she's surprised she's never seen it quite this big before. The trip to his apartment was quiet and awkward, but he came alive when his apartment door shut, a far different man standing before her than the one she saw two weeks ago. He cooks a gorgeous dinner and makes good on his promise to hold her hand like a grade school kid all through wine and dessert.

She's a blushing mess the second or third time he calls her beautiful and she can't help but reject his compliments. She's not pretty, she's just not, but he seems to see something she's missed in her reflection for the past twenty-three and a half years. Let him believe that, especially since he won't accept her compliments either.

They talk into the night and she remembers exactly why her horrible crush on him developed as quickly as it had. He's gorgeous, he's charismatic when he's comfortable, and…he looks at her like she'd hung every star in the sky on little silver strings. How did she come to believe he had no interested in her?

He doesn't kiss her, not once, and does the gentlemanly thing of offering to take the couch. They've shared a bed so many times that this all makes so little sense to her.

"I want to do right by you," he explains when she pushes. "I screwed up the first time and now I want to fix it."

She lets him stay on the couch by himself for a half hour before creeping out and making a concentrated effort to snuggle up to him in too small of a space. It doesn't work well and, in her pushy determination, she gets him to come back and lie beside her. They've never cuddled before and, oh, she's delighted that she fits up against him so perfectly. He's marvelous.

She doesn't deserve him.

They've been dating for two and a half months by the time Christmas rolls around. It's her favorite holiday and she finds herself stuck in the city away from her Grandfather for the first time in years. He's too deep into the Vietnamese wilderness for her to travel to him or him to get out and see her. It's a little painful to have to go without him this year, but in his place she has—

" _Ben!_ " She shrieks as she finds herself lifted from her desk, pencil pulling sloppily away from a complex diagram of an internal wing piece. Her boyfriend is merciless.

"I told you on Sunday: you're coming home with me tonight, we're having a party tomorrow, and then we're going to have _so_ much sex on Christmas morning." He throws her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and puts her down in the small kitchen area of her apartment. "It's going to be amazing, wait until you see what I got you."

"I have _work_ to be doing—"

"I remember grad school, I know. But if you've got time to see Finn, you've got time to see me."

"But I'm not _dating_ Finn! Seeing Finn is a _much_ smaller time commitment!"

"Too bad, girl, I'm going to spoil you rotten and you _will_ like it."

He is such a cheesy mess around her. She loves it.

She spends almost the entire afternoon decorating his apartment. It's small, yes, but he exaggerates just _how_ small it is. She's living in a proper shoebox—he has several _rooms_ , not to mention his kitchen is _enormous_. There isn't enough space for the two of them to live side by side, but there's enough for a gathering of friends.

He's allowed to do work unlike her and he's slumped at his desk in slacks and an unbuttoned shirt. "Can you check on the cake in the oven by the fridge." He has two ovens. _Two ovens!_ How can he say this place is small!?

She gets down from her tinsel covered perch to peek in at his concoction. The cake itself is white but the flavor is peppermint. He has a Yule log cooking in the other oven. Cookie dough is in three different wrapped containers in the fridge. If he baked this much all the time, she would put on an astronomical amount of weight.

"It looks fine."

"Did you use a toothpick?"

She fishes one out of the drawer by the stovetop. "It's sticking a little."

"Perfect." He's beside her then, hands on her hips as he gently moves her out of his way. The master baker sets both layers of his cake on the cooling racks atop the island and switches them out for a sheet of cookies.

"Where did you learn to bake like this?"

"My mom. She baked a lot when I was a kid, probably out of stress." He closes the oven door and pecks her on the cheek. "You're sprucing this place up nicely, I love the little ornaments hanging on the lights."

"I like to overdo it a little."

He bends to really kiss her this time, the force of it making her stumble a little. "I don't think it's overdone."

"You're just buttering me up."

"Hmm, maybe." His hand slides up her shirt, cupping a breast over her bra. "Maybe I just like complimenting the beautiful woman in my kitchen."

"Where is she?"

He snorts and digs his fingers under the cup, the position awkward but arousing. "You'd think she'd notice when I'm playing with her tits, but alas. My Rey is clueless as ever."

Smiling, she runs a finger down his bare chest, biting her lip the way she knows he loves. "I can show you a few more ways in which I'm clueless."

"Oh, no." He draws back, striding back to his work. "We haven't the time. Those will be out in twelve minutes and I just have _so much work_." His grin is teasing and her cheeks feel hotter than they were a moment ago.

Back at her decorating, she hums quietly to herself. She likes this, their domestic dynamic. Could see herself growing very used to all the touching during mundane chores and cute banter. A brief thought flickers to permanent living arrangements, with them taking turns to make dinner, bickering about sports teams, kissing every morning when they wake up, wearing matching rings. Warmth slides up her shoulders and she gives the fantasy another few seconds before waving it away. It would be nice, but she doesn't think she's one to settle down, not anytime soon at least.

Valentine's Day isn't anything special. They both forget about it until it's almost nine and they're still at work, her bustling around with blueprints and him doing so many calculations with the rest of his team.

It's Finn who reminds her. "Aren't you and Solo going out tonight?"

She doesn't think he'll ever call him Ben. "No, it's a Monday. Why would we?"

"It's Valentine's Day. It's that thing couples do."

…Fuck. She didn't even _remember_ that existed. "Oh."

"You forgot."

"I forgot."

Quarter of an hour later and Ben is down in the lab without his suit jacket, hair a mess and a pencil caught between one of his huge ears. He looks more than panicked.

"Hey." He kisses her forehead in greeting and no one glances to sneer. They all know he's been courting her for months and secretly most of the employees around and in his department are grateful—she's lulled him into not being a huge pain in the ass all the time. "Please don't hate me, but I—"

"Forgot what day it is. I did too." She smiles up at him, lacing her hands into his. "Get back to work, they're probably upset you left."

"They're probably taking a breather now that I've left. Our numbers are looking terrible right now."

"Then _go_ , sheesh, even less reason to be down here."

He kisses her forehead again before hurrying back to his frustrated team.

Finn has a look of utter revulsion on when she turns back around. "He turns into a toothache around you, it's weird."

"It's weird because…?"

"Because Ben Solo's never been a nice guy and you manage to make him fall over his own feet and give all onlookers cavities."

"Sorry he's not always a huge jerk anymore?"

"It's just…weird."

They celebrate on that Friday, but it's less of a celebration and more of them lazing on the couch after work. Dinner and wine finished, she's sitting in his lap while he—of course—has a hand down her pants, his touch tender and a little teasing. Nothing is on the television this time, but she had been trying to read before he decided he couldn't keep his hands to himself. He never can.

"Where do you want to go tomorrow?" He asks, rubbing one finger back and forth against her clit.

"I told you, I'm perfectly fine with staying in."

"But I want to take you _out_. We should do something."

He's got his middle finger buried deep inside her now, angled perfectly that he's hitting that one highly-sensitive area and she moans, resting her head back against his chest. "Really, Ben, it's fine."

"It's _fine_?"

A shriller noise comes from her throat. "Yes, _fine!_ "

"Fine is no fun." His free hand travels from her thigh to under her loose t-shirt, playing lightly with a breast. "We both _missed_ Valentine's Day."

"It's not important."

"No?" He squeezes harder and moves a second finger to play at her entrance. "I think it's very important we express our _feelings_ for one another."

He does something evil with her nipple and she whines. "I think you're the devil, happy?"

"Not really." He bites at her ear, overloading her senses. She's going to fucking lose it soon if he doesn't knock it off.

"Ben, your fun here is going to last another few minutes before your hand gets soaking wet."

"In that case." He withdraws his hand and wipes his soiled fingers off on her bare stomach, making her squirm. With one graceful motion, he picks her up and carries her into his bedroom, giving her no time to react before he's got her bottoms and underwear off. First thing he does is lick her stomach clean and her eyes roll back into her skull.

"That's filthy."

He shrugs. "I like it dirty. I like _you_ dirty." Pressing a thumb close to—but not on—her clit, he smirks when she wriggles. "Tell me how you want it."

She's still not terribly comfortable with…bedroom talk. "Ben—"

"Tell me, Rey. How do you want my warm, wet mouth on your nice, tight pussy?" His thumb strokes up where her hip meets her thigh. "Do you want me to fuck you with my tongue? Or should I suck and lick your clit until you come around my fingers?"

Her face is hot and she buries it in her hands. "I can't do this."

"Can't do what, love? Can't deal with the suspense before I eat you out until dawn?" He's got a finger back inside her as he lies quite calmly on his stomach, unfazed by her embarrassment. "Or the suspense of _how many times_ I'm going to make you come tonight? Because I'm not stopping until you can't move."

When she doesn't respond, he leaves a great big hickey on the inside of her right thigh, making her moan and squirm.

"I can also brand you until you make a decision." Another one goes right next to the first. "Been a while since you've had to go places with the lingering redness of _me_ all over you for everyone to see. How does it feel, to know everyone in the office is aware that you're _mine_?" He kisses up her stomach, leaving a red blossom under her left breast. Then he's at her neck and she should have the common decency to push him away _before_ he sets about destroying her neck like a horny teenager, but she doesn't. She lets him have his way.

"I love all these little noises you make," he says quietly, stroking his sixth work of art on her skin. "I feel like if you moan loud enough, I'm going to come from knowing that it's _me_ you're moaning for."

"We can try it out."

"Tell me what to do."

She takes a deep breath, somehow nervous of being in bed with him. Their near-constant sexcapades have made her far better at making him feel amazing, but he's still far more experienced. And he's a god with his mouth, she has no idea how he does it.

"I want you to…" This is going to sound so weird. "Fingerfuck me until I'm near the edge. And the…the what you did earlier was pretty hot."

"Licking your own fluids off you?"

"Yeah, that."

"Excellent choice." He moves down so his face is again level with her hips and eases two fingers in this time, knowing how wet she is, how much she can handle. "Can you imagine how hot it would be if we got one of those internal vibrators and fucked while you had it in? God, you'd get off at least twice in the first ten minutes."

"We haven't fucked in months, Ben."

He chuckles and kisses her stomach, where she can still feel the burning of where her own wetness was. Arousal shoots down her spine. "You're right, we been _making love_. That sounds too pure for what you've been doing with my cock."

She's easing into this filthy conversation. "And what have I been doing?"

"First, you got the fucking vibrating _cock ring_ and then I fucked you silly into three orgasms and you were so goddamn _tight_ I left a bite mark on your shoulder from trying not to scream." He's building up a nice steady rhythm and she can feel her chest begin to grow heavy. He gets a third finger in there and she's not sure she can hear what he's saying anymore. "Then you spent an entire week sucking me off with that sweet little mouth of yours when you were on your period and I swear to _god_ I've never felt anything more amazing in my _life_." He dips his head to lavish her clit with pressure and flicks and sucking, frenzied off the memory.

"What was I doing?" Her voice is nothing but breathy gasps.

"I don't even _know_. Then next thing I know you've got me on all fours with one hand on my hip and the other on my balls and you peg me into the _best_ orgasm I've ever had." He says this all with his lips pressed against her and she can feel his voice in her hips.

With an arch of her back, she hits release for the first time this night, no doubt not the last. He's holding one of her hands when she gets back to her senses, the other smearing her own come all over her belly. He's filthy; he's fucking _filthy_ as he laps it away, nuzzling into her soft middle when he's finished.

"You should get out the strap-on again soon," he says as he's kissing down her hip. "Not tonight—this is all about you tonight—but soon. I fucking love it when you dominate me."

She laces her fingers in his hair and brings him up for a kiss way too sweet for their current positions. There's something in the way he's been looking at her all night that she can't get over. It builds butterflies in her stomach whenever she catches it. She thinks she knows what it is, but she's a little afraid to admit it. "You're fucking perfect, Ben."

He presses into her neck to hide a smile she absolutely saw. "So are you, Sunshine."

For once, she doesn't hate the pet name. In fact, this time, she kind of loves it. Really loves it, the way it falls like gold from his tongue. The way he sees her as something gold, warm, and wonderful. She sighs, positive of it now. Positive she's starting to fall in love.

"You better get back down there before I tie you to the headboard and do everything but make you come."

His eyes are hungry for that—he _loves_ the idea of that—but he obeys. "Yes, ma'am."

Her fingers are back in his hair when his tongue meets her folds and she shivers. "That's my boy."

"I'm not a dog," he huffs, but his licks up and down are too good for him to be nothing special. "But I am yours."

Hers.

She likes how that sounds, what it means. Hers. Yes, she is certainly falling in love with him. And she's scared, scared to give him that much of herself, but excited. So excited to share it with him. But not…yet. It's only been a few months and she doesn't want to say anything, at least not until she knows how he feels.

She brings him up to kiss his soiled lips, rolling him over, kissing him silly for what feels like an eternity before letting him go back to his need to please. His eyes are so bright and she knows he's marvelous, beyond marvelous. She would be content to have him to herself until the sun burned out and time stopped, and for a good long while after that, too.


End file.
